


in retrospect, better

by vesperthine



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Banter, Established Relationship, Fluff, Introspection, M/M, Post-Canon, Reminiscing, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 20:04:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15565413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesperthine/pseuds/vesperthine
Summary: This whole thing, this night, it’s like a montage; recreating important nights in infinity, calling those moments back like cutting out pieces of photographs. Picking the good parts, amplifying them through the lens of knowing it all turned out well.





	in retrospect, better

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nofeartina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nofeartina/gifts).



> for darling [tina](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nofeartina/) who's birthday is today! i hope you had a wonderful day and evening that turned out just like you wanted them. and i hope you like this, too ♡
> 
> (and thank you P ([ @champagneleftie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/champagneleftie/)) for looking this over ♡)

Summer nights smell some kind of way.

If he was a poet, Isak might say some grand, pretentious and Even-ish words about it. How it’s almost possible to taste the summer dust on his tongue. How the air smells crisp with incoming rain, yet warm and smooth at the same time. Or how there’s an electricity to it, separated yet charged by the street lights, reminiscent of another night, a cold and wet autumn one.

He’s not a poet, though, and at the moment, it’s no loss.

A quick detour turned unknown street exploration has added an hour to the walk home, but they’re nearly home now. The darkest time of night has passed, the light slowly seeping back. Gnats flicker in and out of existence underneath the street lights.

They’re sauntering; Isak on the pavement’s cornerstones, Even on the road. Isak’s arm slung over Even’s shoulders, Even’s hand in the back pocket of Isak’s jeans. The four beer buzz in his blood and Even’s warmth would make anyone content.

The street is empty, the world safe and quiet.

There’s only the faint bustle of the early hour traffic, the scuff of their shoes against pavement. The hiss and glow from the end of Even’s cigarette. There's no need to hurry.

“Are you happy?”

Even’s voice breaks the silence, but in a good way; low voice soothing, philosophical, fitting in this moment.

Isak snorts; he brushes a drunken cheek against Even’s hair, and smiles into dawn. “Yeah. No complaints.”

“Good.”

Even grins and blows out a tendril of smoke through the corner of his mouth, reminiscent of the third-year he once was.

Isak loves him still.

“You’re not disappointed we couldn't travel this year?”

“No. We’re here, aren’t we? I mean, I love going places with you, but – yeah. Next year should be fine, if you don’t plan any more spontaneous day trips.”

Even stops under the streetlight just outside their apartment. “You needed them,” he says, gently, and Isak knows he’s right. He so good at predicting the right moment to pull Isak out from inside his own head, that labyrinthine place full of bear traps and thorny vines, that Isak sometimes wonders if he himself is too slow and methodical in his predictions of Even’s needs.

The doubt is rare, though, and easily forgotten.

“Yeah, I did. And I do like them. Our wallets? Not so much. But if we save up, we could go away for longer. Perhaps Paris or some place else that’d make you go ape shit buck wild.”

Even laughs, loud and clear, the sound bouncing off of the buildings. “Oh, so you mean that this is an exercise in delayed gratification á la Valtersen?”

Isak pulls back from the teasing kiss Even wants to share. “You always love when I do that to you.”

“You know better than anyone that what you like in bed doesn’t translate to all parts of life.”

Even’s eyes glint in the light darkness as he pulls Isak close. Gentle, but firm, until Isak yields and puts his hands on his hips. Nudges the tip of his nose against Even’s. Warmth and air pass between them for a second.

Then, Even kisses him; Isak kisses back.

A faint, nostalgic texture of smoke still lingers in Even’s mouth. It’s been years since that afternoon in his bed in the flatshare, but scents make the strongest ties to memories and he knows he’ll have mornings years and years from now when he’ll wake up and kiss an Even that’s just smoked, and he’ll be teleported back to that afternoon in an instant.

To the day when this, this interlocking of lips and warmth and intimacy and selves, was still new and frightening.

It’s everyday now, but never taken for granted.

The street light above flickers out. Even pulls away from the kiss. He traces a slow finger over the bridge of Isak’s nose, and whispers:

“Oh. You’ve got freckles.”

Invisible in winter, they show up with the first heat of the year, before they melt into his skin when his slight tan catches up.

“Always get them this time of year.”

Even bites his lip and connects the dots on Isak’s cheeks. “I guess I never really noticed.” The finger trails up to between his eyebrows, before coming back down again.

“That's quite impressive, considering how often you're this close to my face.”

Even shuts him up with another kiss; it’s harder, rough enough to make Isak’s mouth tingle and his blood sing. It heads straight south too, when Even pushes him back, making his spine knock in to the lamppost and pushes a thigh in between his.

Overhead, the scent of rain makes good on its promise and lets a few drops fall. Isak pulls back, reluctant, when it falls on his forehead. He interlocks their fingers, watching as Even’s face goes soft.

“They’re faint though,” Isak says, and Even’s smile is pleased, open and kind, always so kind.

“I love discovering new things on you,” is all Even says, before pulling Isak with him; they’re stumbling and messy as they kiss and kiss and kiss all the way into the hallway.

Inside, it's humid but cool. The window has stood open all night, letting the fresh air in. It makes goosebumps race down Isak’s arms as they throw off jackets and step out of shoes, not able to take their hands off of each other once the slowly waking world can’t see a thing.

Even’s hands feel cold against Isak’s body, stroking up his sweaty sides to peel the t-shirt off him. Bitten nails scratch his skin, and Isak shivers as Even kisses down his stomach, sinking to his knees, pulling Isak’s jeans down with him.

Isak’s hand finds his hair like there’s a magnetic pull between them.

He closes his eyes when Even hooks his thumbs in his underwear, strokes him back to hardness and then takes him, without hesitation or pause, into his mouth. Just like he always does, unless he wants to take playful revenge on all those times Isak’s left him hanging on purpose.

It’s like a smoulder within him roars to life, just like that very first time.

This whole thing, this night, it’s like a montage; recreating important nights in infinity, calling those moments back like cutting out pieces of photographs. Picking the good parts, amplifying them through the lens of knowing it all turned out well.

Because, it’s better now. It was good then – overwhelmingly, frighteningly good – but it’s better now.

It’s better because Even knows what will send Isak to his knees. Knows what will make him have to dig his fingers into Even’s shoulder not to fall, knees buckling as Even gets a blunt finger inside, curling it just so, and sucking so hard it makes the blood leave Isak’s head all at once.

It’s better because Even knows that all that, in combination with a hand splayed on Isak’s lower back, keeping him close, in place, steady, always produces the same result:

Isak coming, falling over; Even catching him, laughing.

With Even’s help, Isak falls face down on their bed, their safe haven, their sanctuary that smells safer than anything.

Turning his head, he catches Even’s eye.

“Are you happy?” he asks, playful and at same time, not at all.

Even’s smiling, wiping cum from the corner of his mouth. He’s still on his knees, fly undone, and it’s unbelievable how good he looks like that. Isak rolls onto his back and lets Even fall down on top of him; lets him settle against him like they’re made of clay.

Even nudges his nose with his own. “Right in this moment? Definitely.”


End file.
